


Tumblr Ficlets IV

by eden22



Series: Ficlets [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 13:01:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6805741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eden22/pseuds/eden22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collected ficlets from my tumblr. All chapters labelled with pairing if applicable. </p><p>[1] imagine what sort of nicknames they give each other (T'Challa/Bucky)</p><p>[2] it takes James a while to see T'Challa's scars (T'Challa/Bucky)</p><p>[3] Bucky Barnes, secretly a good baker (T'Challa/Bucky)</p><p>[4] Poe was going to be the best best man ever for Finn and Rey, even if it killed him (Finn/Rey/Poe)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kitten (T'Challa/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pietromaximdotmov said:  
> t'chucky prompt: imagine what sort of nicknames they give each other

“Hey kitty-cat, can you pass the pepper?” T’Challa freezes, hands raised above his plate, fork and knife in hand. 

“Excuse me?” He says politely. Maybe he had misunderstood, maybe Bucky’s slowly returning Brooklyn drawl had mangled whatever he had actually said. His boyfriend’s smirk didn’t really support that conclusion, but hey, maybe-

“I said can you pass the pepper, my sweet little kitty-cat.”

“I will fucking impale you,” T’Challa said, voice impassive. Bucky’s smile widened. There was a pause as T’Challa returned his attention to his food.

“Seriously though,” Bucky said, “pepper?”

…

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice is husky in T’Challa’s ear, his breath ghosting hot over his shoulder. T’Challa hums, arching up into the slow drag of the other man’s lips against his skin. “Wanna take a break?” He asks, and T’Challa doesn’t even bother pretending to hesitate before he throws aside the incredibly dull report from the minister of agriculture he’d been struggling with. 

“What did you have in mind?” He asks, turning to look at the other man, smiling at the heat in his eyes. 

“I don’t know,” he says lowly, leaning forward,”what did you have in mind,” he nips at T’Challa’s ear, “kitten?” 

“Noooope,” T’Challa says, pulling back, turning around, and picking the report right back up. 

“But-”

“Nooooooope.” 

…

“Oh fuck yeah, right there, right there, fuck.” Happily for all involved, Bucky seemed to loose his capacity to be a shithead when T’Challa had him pinned against the mattress and was fucking him within an inch of his life. 

Unfortunately, that was about the only time. 

After, covered in sweat and still panting for breath, T’Challa curls around him on the bed.

“Fuck, kitten, you really know how to treat a guy right.” T’Challa stands up and walks out of the room, Bucky’s complaints following him to the bathroom, the King shaking his head as he goes. 

…

“You gonna come to bed kitten?”

“In a moment njoy.” Bucky pauses, looking back at T’Challa. 

“What?” He asks, not sure if he misheard, or if the King had used a Wakandan word he wasn’t familiar with. 

“I’ll be right there,” he says instead, and Bucky narrows his eyes at him. 

…

It was a beautiful sunny day, so the two men had decided to take their breakfast out to the garden, sitting in the shade of a large tree. 

“More coffee kitten?”

“Yes, thank you njoy.” Bucky froze, squinting at the other man. T’Challa had said that enough now that Bucky was certain of what he was hearing. He had checked his Wakandan/English dictionary the previous evening though, and hadn’t been able to find the word ‘njoy’. He poured the coffee, before settling back into his seat, surreptitiously pulling out his phone and opening google. 

“n….j…..o….y….” He glanced at the first result, ecigarettes, that didn’t make sense, before clicking on the second result and-

“Oh come on!” He shouts, and T’Challa bursts out laughing. “My arm doesn’t even look like that!” He says, waving his phone at the King, who is still laughing. He pauses a moment, taking in the way T’Challa laughs, head back, loud and bright, and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from joining in. 

“Okay,” he says, a bit of laughter making it into his voice anyways, “you win. No more kitten.”

“I don’t know,” T’Challa says, picking up his coffee, eyes shining at Bucky from over the rim. “I was sort of becoming fond of it… njoy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://stevesbootyshorts.tumblr.com/post/144125106473/tchucky-prompt-imagine-what-sort-of-nicknames)


	2. Monsters & Men (T'Challa/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:  
> Bucky helping T'challa with his PTSD after seeing his father die in front of him. Bucky doesn't realize how bad it is until they're at some official event and a balloon pops, causing T'challa to nearly flip out.

Everyone in the palace is aware of how poorly James handles his past at times. It’s hard to miss the screams that echo through the corridors. Hard to ignore the man standing, hollowed and silent in the corner of rooms, appearing and disappearing like a ghost. The way fist-sized holes begin to appear in the walls of T’Challa’s quarters. The way he will sit, unmoving, for hours at a time. The way that the Dora Milaje are forced to take knives from him and again. 

Everyone is very aware of James’ problems. 

Everyone is only aware of James’ problems. 

James is far too wrapped up in his own nightmares of blood and bones and endless screams to notice the way T’Challa will sometimes jerk awake next to him. So far removed from anything approaching normalcy for so long, he fails to register that it probably isn’t normal for the King to already be awake, sitting at his desk and staring into space when James’ own nightmares jerk him awake in the silent and closed off hours of the early morning. 

In the end, James makes the same mistake that so many others have before him. He looks at the face that T’Challa presents to the world and takes it as truth. He takes the stoicism, the warrior’s strength, the calm unflappability, and believes it. He buys into the myth of the King who is somehow better than human and misses the man who lies beneath. 

If this is a fairytale and there is a monster, as there must be, it is the lie than anyone is perfect. That there is a single person on this planet who can manage to claw their way through this world without the world clawing back. That a man can be a man and yet somehow also be a god, remaining above and separate from all the blood and tears and laughter that forms us into humans. 

It was never going to last forever. 

The myth cannot stand up to the grating edges of reality, and childish beliefs in the lie of perfection are inevitably decayed. Our heroes and gods are revealed as nothing more or less than painfully, honestly human. 

Like in all good fairytales, It is a child in the end who kills the monster.

They are at a celebration, James doesn’t really know what for, just knows that he followed T’Challa down a large staircase to get here, sitting next to the King on a platform, listening to the steady drone of some official. T’Challa appears to be paying attention, eyes fixed on the speaker, but Bucky lets his wander, scanning carefully over the crowd, always searching for threats. He is looking away when the balloon pops, his brain having just distantly catalogued it as not a threat when a solid weight suddenly slams into his back and he finds himself pinned to the ground. He immediately begins to struggle, belatedly registering T’Challa’s voice telling him to stay down. He goes pliant with his King’s voice in his ear. 

A moment later, the weight is removed, and James rolls over, looking around to see who was hurt, what happened, how he missed an attack. 

Instead, he sees a crowd, wide eyed and beginning to whisper amongst themselves, staring at the King. The King, whose face is ashen as he stares at a small child at the edge of the crowd crying over a string, a bright flash of red still attached to the end, the last remains of a burst balloon. James stands and takes T’Challa’s elbow, guiding the other man off of the stage. Holding him, he can feel the shivers wracking his body. 

When others try to stop them, James gives them the flat dead stare that he knows makes people even more afraid of him and they step away. He guides the King far away from the crowd, not sure where he is going until he gets there, a small hidden courtyard with a single tree and bench, tucked away deep in the palace. He gets T’Challa to sit, then pauses, uncertain. Automatic instincts to protect had guided him this far, but now he didn’t know what to say, what to do.

T’Challa, for his part, stares down at his hands, fingers twisting and untwisting as he continued to shake. James kept a hand on T’Challa’s back, keeping his own breathing slow and steady and watching as the King slowly began to match it.

“I am sorry,” James finally said, making T’Challa look up at him in surprise. “I should have known better,” he says before the other man can speak, “that just because you are not injured here,” he gestures over T’Challa’s body, “doesn’t mean you’re not injured here.” He gently presses his hand to the side of T’Challa’s head. T’Challa shook his head. 

“I’m not… I can’t…. I’m the King,” he says, voice shaking. “I have to be strong. It is my duty to be strong.” 

“There is no strength in allowing yourself to bleed out when you could have asked for help.” James says, “You told me that, once.” T’Challa shook his head again. 

“I can’t,” he repeats. 

“Okay,” James says after a moment of careful thought. “Perhaps then you can let me help you. Just me,” he says, seeing T’Challa open his mouth to protest again “but please. Let me.” 

After a moment’s hesitation, T’Challa gives a single, careful nod. 

After all, gods are fallible and heroes grow old and die. But people, people working together to build something.

They can live forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://stevesbootyshorts.tumblr.com/post/144306039828/bucky-helping-tchalla-with-his-ptsd-after-seeing)


	3. The Baker (T'Challa/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> theninetyniner said:  
> glad to see that you're accepting prompts! seeing as i was the one who sent the bucky-can't-cook-wakandan-food prompt, how about a sequel in which bucky bakes and it turns out to be so good that even the palace chef compliments him and nobody even knows how he did it??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow up to [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5329019/chapters/15513382)

Bucky hasn’t been to the kitchens in months when T’Challa heads to a meeting of world leaders in Spain. He doesn’t mean to end up back in them to be honest, once had been enough. Ever since his disastrous attempt to cook for T’Challa, the cooks had been very wary of him. Even when he just tried to go down there for a snack at some weird hour of the night when he couldn’t sleep, he is always politely but firmly turned away. This had resulted in the cooks actually bringing food up to him at all sorts of weird hours with no prompting from him, simply leaving it covered on the table if he was actually asleep for once. 

Bucky wasn’t sure if he was offended or touched. 

In the end though all of this just meant that Bucky hadn’t actually even made it near the kitchen in three months. 

With T’Challa gone the palace is functioning on a skeletal staff, most of Bucky’s new, tentative friends amongst the staff off spending time with their families in the King’s absence. The entire palace staff is very used to Bucky ghosting from room to room at this point, so even those who he isn’t as familiar with are comfortable with his presence. But he doesn’t know them, and it still takes a very long time for him to be able to talk to strangers, the easy friendship of his youth long lost. (T’Challa had actually put a bell on him at one point to ensure he stopped freaking the fuck out of the housemaids, which Bucky had been not been amused by. It had resulted in him making sure he made at least a little bit of noise when he entered a room someone else was already in though, so T’Challa counted it a win even if he hadn’t gotten laid for a week because of it). 

It was an early morning, already hot and beautifully sunny when one of the cooks walked into the courtyard just off his and T’Challa’s rooms, set his breakfast down on the table, and stared Bucky down. Bucky, who had just been laying on a short couch enjoying the sunlight, shifted uncomfortably. 

“What?” He finally asked, his Wakandan still rough around the edges. 

“I am currently the only staff member left in the palace. It is my granddaughter’s birthday. I am leaving. You can feed yourself for the rest of the day.” Bucky flinched at the woman’s tone. 

“Of course,” he said, “please, go.” She squinted at him, then relaxed. She didn’t look familiar, and Bucky wondered if she’d maybe never spoken to him before. He wondered what the other staff had told her about him. 

“Okay,” she sad, turning to leave, then pausing, seeming to take pity on him. “I’ll leave out some recipe cards for you.”

“Thank you,” Bucky says with a wide smile, hiding his inner wince. 

Those were not going to help. 

—

T’Challa returns from his trip exhausted. Diplomacy was exhausting, politics were exhausting, making small talk with repulsive people for the sake of both was exhausting. He doesn’t bother trying to locate his sister or Bucky or anyone else when he arrives, heading straight to his rooms and falling into bed. He doesn’t know how long he sleeps, but he comes back into consciousness slowly, drawn towards wakefulness by something… a smell… an amazing smell. 

He cracks his eyes open just in time to see Bucky freeze next to their bed, a guilty look written across his face. T’Challa blinks. The former Winter Soldier is wearing a floral apron and a matching potholder, frozen in the act of putting down a–

“Is that… is that pie?” T’Challa asks, sitting up. Bucky straightens, still looking guilty. 

“Yes,” He says, though it sounds more like a question. 

“Wha– why…?” Honestly, T’Challa has not had enough sleep to deal with this. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Bucky says, biting his lip in a very distracting way. T’Challa has missed those lips. And those shoulders, currently being emphasized by the cut of the apron… T’Challa brings his attention back to Bucky. “It was going to be a surprise,” the other man continued to explain, “for when you woke up. To welcome you home.” 

“Oh,” T’Challa said, not sure why his cooks had decided to make an American dessert to welcome him back to Wakanda. “Well that was very kind of the staff.” Bucky shifts, and T’Challa stares at him, trying to figure out his expression, which was–

“You made this?” He asks, feeling equal parts fondness and horror rise within him. He’d really had enough of making polite diplomatic faces over the last couple of weeks to last a lifetime, he didn’t really want to have to make another one because his partner had apparently forgot that he didn’t know what to do in a kitchen. “That’s so… thoughtful of you.” He says, trying for one anyways. His exhaustion probably wasn’t helping, but it seemed to work since a small smile lifted the corners of Bucky’s lips. 

“Try it,” Bucky said, transferring the pie to his metal hand and setting down the potholder to grab a fork from the apron’s pocket. He holds out the fork, and T’Challa squints up at him as he accepts it. There was something about the smile Bucky was giving him, not nervousness, not dreading T’Challa’s disapproval… there was something secretive about it, T’Challa decided. He put his fork into the pie, desperately hoping he wasn’t about to be subjected to another one of Bucky’s horrendous pranks, though he wasn’t usually so childish when Steve wasn’t around. He was sure it was going to be awful either way though, he wasn’t sure why Bucky would bother pranking him with food when Bucky’s cooking is bad enough to–

His eyes go wide as the flavour bursts across his tongue. 

“Holy fuck,” he swears, reaching for another forkful while Bucky’s small smile blooms into a full-on satisfied grin. There’s a medley of fruit, flavours combining perfectly with the flakiness of the crust and the spices layered between the two. He’s too busy eating bite after bite of the pie to speak, but Bucky sees the question in his eyes anyways. 

“I can’t cook,” Bucky says, still grinning, “but apparently, I can bake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://stevesbootyshorts.tumblr.com/post/144302066008/glad-to-see-that-youre-accepting-prompts-seeing)


	4. What a Mess (Finn/Rey/Poe)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shevni said:  
> but imagine the best man is in love with *both* of them! OT3 for the win. That way no one gets their heart broken :)

Poe wasn’t going to get drunk. He wasn’t. He was going to be the perfect best man, hold the ring and watch as Finn’s eyes lit up when he saw Rey walking down the aisle (no fucking man is giving me away, thank you very much, she’d snapped at Han when he’d offered to walk her down the aisle, before graciously offering him the position of her maid of honour). He was going to give a perfect speech, make Leia cry (because he’d bet Jess $50 he could), and then sit down, shut up, and smile his way through the rest of the night. 

That had been the plan anyways.

To be fair, he’d made it through the actual wedding part okay. His chest had gotten tight at the look on Finn’s face when he caught sight of Rey, gotten even tighter when he’d turned as well and saw her walking down the grassy aisle between the two rows of lawn chairs. She’d looked perfect, the sunlight lighting up her dark hair twisted into careful curls by Leia (which were guaranteed to be ruined within the hour but whatever). Her plain white dress was so perfectly her, as was the bouquet of wildflowers spilling out of her hands. Of course, Finn looked beautiful too, because the universe apparently hated Poe. His white suit cut a sharp contrast against his dark skin, his smile so bright as he looked at Rey that Poe had to turn away and take a couple of deep breaths. 

Between the guys from the auto shop and the entire company’s worth of firefighters there was so much hollering when they kissed it would have been easy for Poe to get distracted, to miss the way their lips lingered. The way they smiled at each other, clasping together their hands with their matching rings, plain silver bands. But he didn’t miss it, and no one in that entire field missed how in love with each other they were. 

And that was when Poe started to drink. 

He wasn’t going to drink a lot. Just a glass or two, to fortify his nerves, honestly. Just one swig from Jess’s flask… but then Finn helped Rey tie up the skirt of her dress when she got annoyed with it while trying to run back and forth between tables. 

He was just gonna have one glass of champagne… but then Rey bent in half to talk to Maz, nodding seriously at whatever the crazy old lady was telling her. 

He was just gonna have one mixed drink… but then Finn got a little bit of icing on Rey’s face while feeding her a piece of cake, and Rey straight-up smashed an entire slice onto Finn’s face in response. 

(after that he kind of gave up keeping track) 

It didn’t really hit him until Han finished giving his extremely awkward maid of honour speech and Poe stood up to give his best man speech. Suddenly the room was spinning, he was leaning heavily against the table, and Rey and Finn were giving him matching concerned looks. 

Aw fuck, he thought, taking a deep breath. 

He isn’t really sure what he says, to be honest. He’s too nervous and too drunk. Halfway through though, he does come back to himself a little bit, noticing the alternately horrified and amused looks on the crowd’s face. Jess, of course, is laughing so hard she’s actually crying, that asshole. 

“Anyways,” he says, trying to wrap up what he’s pretty sure was a very rambling and embarrassing story about the month he and Rey had both kept insisting Finn drive back to this awful small down just outside the city with them (Rey had needed to keep checking to see some old guy out there was ready to sell her his amazing vintage car yet, Poe mostly did it because it was hilarious how upset Finn got over the place). 

“Uh, what I’m trying to say is that I love you guys,” Poe turns to them, raising his glass, “you’re the best people I know and I love you both and I hope you’re so fucking happy forever.” That gets some laughs, and everyone cheers loudly. Finn blushes, because Finn blushes at everything, and leans over to kiss a laughing Rey on the cheek. Poe should sit down, that was a decent ending to a terrible speech and he should really just sit down…

Poe doesn’t sit down. 

“No like, I really love you guys,” he hears himself continue, unable to stop the incredibly inappropriate words pouring out of him. Everyone’s staring at him, he should stop, he should shut up, just shut up now before-

“I’m in love with you.” He says, and the crowd goes instantly quiet. So of course, he speaks even louder. “I’m in love with both of you.” Oh good now he’s crying, great. This is going great. 

“So yeah,” he concludes, looking at somewhere over Finn’s left ear, unable to look at either of his fucking newlywed friends. And then he finally, blessedly, shuts his mouth and sits down, hitting the table and making it rattle on his way down. The volume in the room is picking up again, thank all the gods, the gathered crowd begging to mutter amongst themselves about the spectacle he just made of himself. He kind of wants to sink under the table to be honest, staring down at his empty plate determinedly. At least he’s stopped crying.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Rey’s shout effectively silences the crowd again and Poe looks up at her, startled. She’s staring at him with the exact fierce determination that made him fall in love with her in the first place. She’s also standing, hands on her hips in a way that makes him very nervous. Surely she wouldn’t beat him up at her own wedding, would she? 

(who was he kidding, she would absolutely kick his ass in her wedding dress)

“Poe Shara Dameron, did you seriously just declare your love to me and Finn at our fucking wedding?” She pauses long enough to make it clear that she actually expects Poe to respond. 

“Yes?” He says, more of a question than he means it to be. 

“I’m going to kick you ass.” She states, moving to climb over Finn to get at him. Finn, now that Poe is looking at him, just looks really stunned, and not very inclined to stop his wife from clambering over him in order to beat the shit out of his best man. 

“Please don’t,” Poe says instead, pushing his chair as far away from her as he can. He is vaguely aware of the entire room still staring at them, but is far more preoccupied with the immediate threat of physical violence. Luckily his pleading seemed to finally snap Finn out of his daze, the other man hooking an arm around Rey’s waist to stop her, though Poe was pretty sure that the fact her skirt had gotten tangled around the chair had more to do with the halt in her advance than anything Finn was doing. 

“You love us?” Finn asked, ignoring Rey as she unsuccessfully attempted to detangle herself. 

“Yes?” He says again. 

“Well shit,” Finn says with a growing grin. “We love you too.” 

“What.” Poe says. 

“We’re in love with you too.”

“What.” Poe says again. He’s pretty sure his brain has literally broken down because he has absolutely no idea what is happening. 

“C’mere,” Finn says, reaching out with one of his unfairly long arms and grabbing Poe’s jacket, hauling him forward and, before Poe has a chance to realize what was happening, is kissing him. Poe freezes, shocked, until he feels Finn’s tongue sweep over his lower lip. He surges forward, probably making some embarrassing noises into Finn’s mouth as the other man fully licks into his own mouth. 

When he finally pulls back, gasping for air, he only has a moment to take in the fact that Rey is no longer trying to free herself before he is again tugged into a kiss. Rey is a more aggressive kisser than Finn, and Poe swears he could feel it all the way down to his toes. Also, apparently Rey likes to bite. 

When they separate, the room is utterly silent. 

That lasts for about five seconds, before their collected friends and family start fucking screaming. Poe can hear Jess shouting “fuckin’ finally”, but he can’t bring himself to care about the fact that he was literally never going to live this down. Can’t bring himself to care about what people will say, how badly the team down at the fire station is going to tease him. 

He’s too busy smiling at the loves of his life, who were smiling right back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [come say hi on tumblr](http://stevesbootyshorts.tumblr.com/)


End file.
